That's an Order
by VictorianChik
Summary: Set in Season One, around the episode "Desert Crossing" - When Trip pushes himself too hard physically, Archer sets him straight about his priorities with stern discipline and a little help from Phlox. Warning: spanking of an adult.
1. Dehydration

AN: I'm all jazzed about the new Star Trek movie, but I enjoyed Enterprise and its characters as well. This is one story I wrote over a month, but I'm posting it all at once in three chapters. Let me know if you like it. If you're confused about the characters, but want to read my stuff, visit and look up the TV show for a quick recap.

--

"_That's an order."_

Trip scowled as he leaned back on his bed, hating the sound of the words in his own head. Captain Archer, eternally cheerful and optimistic, seemed to get a real kick out of saying those frequently, especially to Trip.

"_That's an order."_

Adjusting to space life had been hard enough – the gravity always felt slightly off. Trip would reach for a heavy, iron tool, and sometimes he had to lug it off the ground and other times it seems to weigh nothing at all. One time, he had yanked too hard and hit himself in face with a foot-long wrench.

Then he had gone to dinner that night with a red bruise on his cheek, and Archer had demanded to know how he got it. When Trip explained, Archer had ordered him to sickbay to let the doctor examine it. When Trip protested it was nothing, Archer had replied, "Go on to the doctor. That's an order, Commander."

Those three words could drive Trip absolutely crazy. Because after they were said, there was nothing else Trip could do except follow his captain's orders.

Like that time Trip had gone on another ship and the air had burnt his lungs. He had wanted to come back to the Enterprise, only Archer insisted that he stay on the other ship and rest, like the alien crewmen told him to. When Trip protested that he couldn't take it, Archer had replied cheerfully, "Take a nap, that's an order."

Trip had reluctantly done so and he did feel better, practically healed after sleeping, but then he had played that mind-reading game with the bewitching female alien and somehow managed to get himself pregnant. He only carried the alien babies a few weeks, but Archer had been the worst – always covering his mouth with his hand to hide his smile and going around with his eyes laughing at everything while Trip had been in the agony of hormones and shame.

So annoying – Archer, who always thought he knew best about everything, who gave the orders for everyone to follow, who would rather have T'Pol be second in command than Trip who had every right to be second in command over that blank-faced Vulcan.

A light tap sounded on the door, and Trip scowled even harder. "What?" he called out shortly.

The door slid open and Archer stepped in, his forehead creased in concern. "Kind of late for you to be up, isn't it?"

Trip bit his tongue to keep from yelling back something mean.

"By earth hours, it's three in the morning," Archer noted. "You worked on the lower engines all day. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"Not tired," Trip muttered.

Archer considered for a second and then nodded along. "Sure, but don't you think you should try? We keep the hours so we all can have regular hours of eating and sleeping. Keeps everyone from over-working or getting too stressed."

"Who cares?" Trip shrugged. "Look outside. It's dark all the time except when we get near stars or other suns."

"Something bothering you?" Archer raised an eyebrow. "You've been kind of short all day."

"Just tired," Trip looked away.

"That's why you should sleep."

"Just leave me alone," Trip snarled. "I'm fine, I'm good, and I'm so freakin' dandy that I can barely stand myself."

"Keep this up and you'll spend the night in sickbay," Archer warned, his good-natured tone deepening into a warning.

"Why? I'm not sick!"

"Sound like you've got a case of the space blues that's turning into grouch-itis."

Another time Trip might have smiled at Archer's joke, even chuckled. But in his present mood, he just glared at the older man and glanced away.

"Fine, stay up," Archer held up his hands, backing towards the door. "But this better not affect your work performance tomorrow."

Trip thought about retorting that it was already tomorrow or that nothing could affect his job performance, but he settled for a disgruntled huff.

Archer left the room, and Trip fell back into his brooding silence again. Perfect Archer and his great moods, always wanting everyone well-rested and well-fed and in good spirits and everything else stupid and lame. As a general rule, Trip agreed with his captain that a successful crew needed those things, but right then Trip wished everyone on the ship was as miserable as he was.

How nice it would be if Archer were a tyrant of a captain who kept them up to all hours of the night, fed them only once a day, and did all he could to crush their spirits. Then Trip would have every right to hate him. Instead, he had to admire and respect the man who did his best to make sure everyone got along and had a peaceful time up in space.

Furious, Trip stormed out of his room and headed for the exercise rooms. Most of the hallways were dim, an effort to conserve energy during sleeping hours. Of course, a handful of people were on watch should anything go wrong, but they were placed at strategic spots along the Enterprise so the rest of the ship could be lit only by small blue lights. The gravity was turned lower as well, and Trip felt lighter as he walked down the hall.

"Dang gravity," he sneered as he entered the exercise rooms. Flipping on the overhead light, Trip went for a stationary bike. He began pedaling on a low level, going for endurance rather than speed.

He had loved riding a bike as a kid, over the flat road of Florida, and he wondered what would happen if he got a real bike and rode it on the corridors of the Enterprise. A childish thing to do, but Trip often wondered if it would be easier to pedal in lower gravity.

He worked himself for several hours, pushing himself harder and harder until he could barely keep his eyes open. After the incident with Reed on the pod in which they were both certain they would freeze to death in space, Trip found himself having trouble breathing hard, his lungs feeling a bit shallow.

Trip shakily went to his bed, his legs weak from exercising so hard.

------

And of course the next day, Archer came to him and requested that they go to a desert-like planet to visit a captain named Zobral. Despite his reluctance, Trip finally agreed, only because Archer pushed so hard. That was the thing about Archer – when he wasn't giving you orders, he managed to manipulate your feelings and thoughts so you felt bad if you didn't go along with him. When Archer said he really wanted Trip to go along, Trip just laid his head on the nearest shelf and gave in.

Thirty hours of heat, sand, dehydration, and several bruised ribs from a brutal game with Zobral's men, Trip found himself in an abandoned shelter with Archer, unable to stay awake. Trip could not stop shivering and he wanted to sleep, but once again Archer would not leave him in peace.

"Come on, Trip, you have to stay awake," the captain argued. "If you sleep you'll fall into a coma. Keep talking to me."

If he could have managed, Trip would have sworn at his captain, damning him for bringing them out to the desert, making them walk so far in the blistering heat, and then forcing Trip to drink from Archer's water though Trip had protested he was fine. That was another about Archer – he would not give up. So if he said they were going to talk and not sleep, then they were talking. Trip knew enough about the stubbornness of his captain to recognize defeat, and he kept himself away enough to answer Archer's insistent questions.

By the time they were actually rescued, Trip was numb and delirious. He lay in the tiny cabin of the flight pod and stared blankly at the opposite wall. Archer sat beside him, trying to rally his spirits by patting Trip's shoulder and promising everything would be all right.

"We'll get you to the doctor," Archer assured him. "Some water, a few nights sleep, and some food, and you'll be ready to work two days from now. The doctor will heal you up fine, so you just rest and we'll take care of you."

Trip could not concentrate on Archer's cheerful words. In the tiny cabin, Trip could see his parents sitting on the other side. They kept blurring in and out of vision, but Trip could see his mother's patient smile and his father's proud look. Trip blinked and they disappeared, and he started seeing friends that he had left back on earth. He tried to talk to them, but they kept vanishing before he could tell them anything important.

"Can this thing go any faster?" Archer's voice had a desperate edge to it as he watched Trip's eyes glaze over.

"We're going as fast as we can, sir," Reed replied. "Just a few more minutes."

Archer glanced at Trip and reached a hand up to palm the younger man's forehead. "He's still burning up. And his heart won't stop racing. Trip, stay with us. Just hold on a little longer."

Trip could not hear him. He kept trying to wave to his friend, only his arms wouldn't work. He kept edging closer and closer to the soft darkness that began to fill the pod, easing around him like welcoming fingers of black fog.

Then the whole world jerked, and Trip felt himself being pulled up off the ground by demanding hands. He tried to bat them off – why wouldn't they leave him in peace? But he had no strength and they pulled him where they wanted. Suddenly, he lay flat on his back, but he was still moving, the world around him had turned into a myriad of colors and light.

"Hurry, hurry," Archer ordered as he, T'Pol, and Reed carried the stretcher bearing Trip towards sickbay. "He's not responding."

"We are almost there, Captain," T'Pol said evenly. "I contacted the doctor so he will be prepared to help the moment we arrive. Just one more corridor."

Archer looked down at Trip, watching the younger man rolling his eyes up at the ceiling, not seeing anything. "Keep breathing, Trip. Deep breaths. That's an order."

The familiar words broke through Trip's delirium, and he tried to scowl and tell the captain he wasn't taking his orders anymore. But Trip couldn't remember how to speak, and he let himself fall back into the dizzy colors.

Dr. Phlox was waiting in sickbay, a narrow cot all set up and several hanging bags of fluids. "Yes, yes, put him up on the bed. Easy now, don't jar him. Ah, he's terribly warm and on the brink of full-blown delirium."

"But he's going to be all right?" Archer asked, watching the alien doctor anxiously.

"Just a case of heatstroke, very easy to treat. Of course, the healing process depends mainly on the patient. Let's hope our Commander will allow himself time to heal properly."

"He had better," Archer said, a definite sharpness in his voice as he watched Phlox cut Trip's torso out of his uniform, swab his left hand clean, and inject a needle into the vein on top of Trip's hand. Trip groaned but made no further protest to stop the doctor.

Phlox hook up an IV to the needle, letting the liquid seep slowly into the dehydrated man. "The most important thing about heatstroke is keeping the patient warm and not trying to cool them too quickly. Before doctors used to dump fever-ridden patients into ice baths, hoping to cool them, but it only speed up the rate of their heart even worse. A sponge bath to clean him, and then more liquid and lots of sleep under a thin, damp blanket should right his health, but we must proceed slowly. T'Pol, please undress him."

"Excuse me?" T'Pol lifted her eyebrows.

"A victim of heatstroke must be completely undressed to facilitate cooling," Phlox noted as he began collecting various instruments and blankets.

T'Pol frowned the slightest bit but reached forward to unbutton Trip's trousers.

"That's all right," Archer stopped her. "I'll help the doctor with the commander. Why don't you and Reed make contact with Zobral and communicate our recent adventures?"

"Sir," T'Pol nodded as she and Reed left.

With Phlox's help, Archer stripped Trip down to his bright blue undershorts and stood by anxiously as Phlox covered him up the younger man with a damp blanket. Trip had not moved, and Archer bit his bottom lip, afraid Trip had lapsed into a coma.

"He's just numb," Phlox assured him, scanning Trip and frowning at the screen of the scanner. "He's awake, but I doubt he can hear us. I see that he has several bruised ribs which lead to breathing troubles, I imagine. That's why he succumbed so easily to heatstroke. Also, he suffered near hypothermia aboard Shuttlepod One – his body was subjected to extreme cold. Now he has been subjected to extreme heat. Hard for the human body to endure. Leave him to me, Captain. I will assure that he has the proper medical treatment."

Archer hesitated, clearly wanting to stay and do more for the young man, but the doctor looked very capable as he took out bottles and squares cuts of cloth, obviously about to clean the young man up. With one last look at his quiet commander, Archer left sickbay.


	2. Frustration

Many hours later, Trip opened his eyes slowly. Something cold was on his chest and it kept moving around. Because it was tickling his chest, he moved his hand to bat the coldness off. But his hands did not move; his arms could not lift off the table.

Panicking, Trip opened his eyes fully and lifted his head up to see. Dr. Phlox was standing beside his bed, holding a white square of something and rubbing it over Trip's chest. Trip's wrists were in cuffs, locked down to the narrow bed.

"Doc?" Trip lifted an eyebrow. "What's going on?"

"Just a moment," Phlox kept his eyes on his work and slid the cold white cube across Trip's chest, skitted over two ribs.

Trip let out a yelp, bucking against the table and the cuffs. "Stop!" he protested. "Go away, man, it's cold!"

Nodding his assent, Phlox lifted the cube off. "Yes, of course, you seem to have your reflexes acting normal. But I was worried. I strapped you down an hour ago and began stimulating your nerves, using a variety of pressure, electro shocks, heat, and lastly cold. You stayed still through the pressure and shocks, but the heat made you twitch and the cold actually woke you up."

"You trying to hurt me?" Trip asked, confused.

"Oh, no, no, never. Just an attempt to gather more information about humans and your marvelous systems. You're quite fascinating as a species. Many other species would enjoy cold sensations after being in the desert for so long, but you –" Phlox pressed the cold cube just below Trip's navel.

"Ah!" Trip jerked. "Stop it – Archer! Archer, he's killing me. Where's Archer?"

Chuckling, the doctor put the cube aside and sat down on a rolling stool. "Don't move too much – I still have the IV dripping."

Trip glanced down to the needle in his hand and the tube that disappeared in a main machine. "Cause I was dehydrated?"

"Exactly. You put your body under quite a strain. But I suppose that's enough fluid for now." The doctor turned the machine off and eased the needle out of Trip's skin. The younger man winced, but said nothing.

Phlox took apart the IV, disposing of the needle, and began packing up the fluid bags while Trip watching impatiently.

"Doc?" Trip glanced down at the cuffs. "You're going to let me free? I don't really like being strapped down like a raving lunatic."

"Certainly," Phlox reached towards the right cuff. He paused with his hand over the cuff. "Now, the captain has left you to my care, and I assured him I would restore you to your prime condition."

"Yeah, great," Trip nodded. "Let me go."

A strange look came over Phlox's usually-cheerful face. He sat back down, frowning at Trip. "I did a full screening of your system, and I noticed certain irregularities there. So I will ask you a series of questions to determine the cause of those irregularities."

"Questions? Just let me up."

"Have you been getting the proper amount of sleep?"

"Sleep? Yeah, I sleep," Trip answered impatiently.

"The proper amount for humans is eight hours in a twenty-four hour span of time," Phlox looked stern. "I would accept seven hours once in a while, but eventually you need to return to eight hours."

"I get at least six," Trip wavered between feeling guilty and feeling enraged that he was being restrained against the bed to answer questions.

"What about eating? Balanced meals, regularly?"

"Yeah, yeah."

Another stern look, and Trip admitted, "Well, maybe I enjoyed sugar every now and then, but who doesn't?"

"Drink enough fluids? Lots of water?"

"Come on, doc, take these cuffs off me," Trip ordered. "I'm fine. Let me go back to my room. I got work to do."

"Calm yourself, I'm just trying to –"

"I know what yer tryin' to do," Trip's Southern accent came in stronger as he got more and more upset. "And it's unnecessary and irritating as heck, and I'm not takin' it. Get me out of this thing and let me go before I unleash a whole ton of whoop-ass on you."

"I insist that you calm yourself."

"An' I insist that you let me go. I'm the commander here."

"I'm the doctor, and I outrank you when you are here in sickbay."

"Listen, you freaky alien," cords began to stand up on Trip's neck as he snarled at the doctor, "yer goin' let me and we'll take this to the hallway where I pull all the stupid scales off yer face, one by one."

"Violence will not help –"

"Shut up, you lousy son of a bitch," Trip spat.

"What?" a stern voice boomed from the doorway.

Both Trip and Phlox turned to Archer standing in the doorway. Archer was not smiling; in fact, he looked very stern and displeased.

"What did you call the doctor?"

"He won't let me go," Trip nodded his head towards Phlox. "He's got me tied down to this bed thing, an' he's askin' all these questions, and I ain't even sick, but he's going on and on about how I don't take care of myself."

"I was merely pointing out that our commander has neglected his health as of late," Phlox said quietly. "After your desert experience, he needs to monitor himself carefully, making sure he gets the proper sleep and food and fluids. Also, I would like to have him visit sick bay everyday for the next week to undergo a breathing treatment of heavy oxygen and DNA repairing fumes. It should take about an hour."

"No way," Trip declared. "I'm not doin' no breathing treatment, I'm fine. Cap'n, make him let me go. I got work to do."

"Let him up," Archer said in a low tone.

Phlox frowned slightly, but did not protest. He unlocked the cuffs around Trip's wrists.

Trip said up. "If you weren't our only doctor, I'd be knocking you on yer ass right now. Where's my shirt?"

Phlox picked up the blue undershirt and held it out to Trip who snatched it away.

"Thank you, Phlox," Archer said, very calmly.

"Yeah, thanks," Tripmuttered as he pulled the shirt on, "fer nothing."

"I'll see the commander back to his room," Archer said in the same quiet voice.

"Where are my other clothes?" Trip looked around, but Archer had stepped forward and taken Trip's arm. "I need my other clothes –" he broke off in a loud cough, trying to clear his throat.

Archer cast Phlox a side look, worried at the wheezy sound in Trip's lungs. "We'll find them in a little while."

"Great," Trip griped. "I gotta climb all the way to my bunk in my underwear. If we run into T'Pol and she starts makin' comments, I'm not goin' be – ow, cap'n!"

Archer had given his arm a hard jerk as he marched Trip out of sickbay and down the hall. Trip looked pale and tired in the light of the hall, and Archer suddenly felt angry.

"How long have you been skipping sleep?"

"You're not taking the doctor serious, are you?" Trip asked, surprised but looking calmer now that he was with Archer and no longer cuffed to the bed.

"Answer the question, Commander."

"I don't need sleep. You want to let up on my arm there?"

"No, I want an answer out of you."

"I sleep enough," Trip declared.

"From now on, you're getting eight hours of sleep a night," Archer decided.

"I don't need that much sleep," Trip said as they got to the door of Trip's room.

Archer pushed the button to slide the panel door open. As they stepped in, Archer said, "You're getting more sleep, Trip. No arguing. Now get into your bunk and go to sleep."

"No must be joking," Trip turned incredulously eyes on the older man as Archer shut the door. "I got work to do. Give me a minute to grab some food and I'll be back to work."

"You're going to sleep now," Archer lowered his voice, fixing Trip with his best Captain look. "Now lay down, and I'll send someone here with food in a few hours. Another twenty-four hours, and I'll let you do a little light paper work. But only after you go for two breathing treatments and Phlox gives you a clean bill of health."

"That's outrageous!"

"Trip, Phlox knows best, and I trust him to take care of us. Go on and get some sleep." Archer walked back to the door, planning to turn off the light once Trip was in bed. Seeing Trip hesitate, Archer added, "That's an order."

Trip looked up at Archer and in that moment, he forgot that Archer was the captain of the Enterprise and his superior and his friend. Trip only saw red. With a roar, Trip rushed at Archer, ready to pound the older man into the floor.

Archer was caught off guard, and Trip managed to actually push him into the wall before Archer could respond.

Any other time, it would have been a pretty even fight as Archer was taller and more muscular but Trip was younger and faster. However, with two bruised ribs and aching lungs, Trip's next swing missed Archer all together, and the captain stepped forward to catch Trip in an arm-lock, pinning the younger man's arms back.

Before Trip could fight back, Archer herded him to the bed and pushed him face down, pressing one knee on Trip's back to keep him down on the bed.

"Have you lost your mind?" Archer boomed. "You just attacked your captain! You could be court-martialed for this."

"I don't care," Trip yelled back, half his face pressed into the bed. "I'm sick of you orderin' me around. I didn't want to go on that trip, and you made me, and when I try to get better, I got you and the needle-happy doctor tryin' to treat me like some invalid."

"It's for you own good!"

"I don't care," Trip shouted back. "Now let me up so I can fight you for real so I can get kicked out of here and never have to see yer ugly face again."

"Is that what you want? You want to leave?"

"No! I'm sick and tired of you bossin' me around."

"I'm your captain," Archer retorted.

"Yeah? Well, it's hard when the captain is yer friend, too, but you have to get bossed around by yer friend and never know what's going on!"

"I'll tell you what's going on," Archer fumed. "You mean too much to me as a friend for me to let you run yourself to ruin. You don't take care of yourself. I take full responsibility for this last trip, but before that you weren't in the best condition because you pushed yourself too hard. From now on, you eat right, sleep more, and rest up when you feel bad. Got it?"

Trip growled.

"I want a _yes sir_ right now," Archer ordered, "or I'm locking you up in the brig and then dumping you on the nearest solar system."

"Yes, sir," Trip snarled. He suddenly felt tired and his whole body ached all over. He wondered what would happen – would Archer just walk out and leave and that would be the end of their friendship?

Trip sucked in a long, wheezy breath, hoping his stinging eyes would not fill up with tears. Archer stepped back, and Trip turned over to sit on his bed, not able to meet's Archer's eyes.

Archer felt awful for the young man, but he knew his job as captain and knew that he could not let Trip's behavior go unpunished. "You do not assault a superior officer. If you have a problem, you talk about it to me."

"You don't listen," Trip's voice was very quiet.

"Then you accept the fact that you work under an awful captain who makes your life a living hell," Archer continued. "Thank goodness we were here, just the two of us – if someone else saw, I would have to have you deported off this ship immediately."

"I know," Trip admitted.

"Were you anyone else, I would be contacting my superiors at once," Archer was very stern. "But I will chart this up to extenuating circumstances and the shock to your system in the last few weeks."

"Thank you," Trip's voice was barely more than a whisper.

"And now I'm giving you a choice," Archer swallowed, knowing what he had to do. "I have to reprimand you for this, even if no one else knows about what you did. Should someone find out that you attacked me, I would want to say in all honesty that you were disciplined accordingly. But I'll give you a choice. Accept whatever punishment I give you here in your room and keep it between the two of us or take a two-week suspension without work or pay with confinement to this room."

"Two weeks?" Trip looked up, horrified. "But – I'm yer engineer. The ship can't run without me fer two whole weeks!"

"That's true," Archer nodded in agreed.

"I'll take yer punishment here," Trip sighed. "Okay – yer going yell or punch me a few times?"

"No, I'm going to belt you," Archer replied smoothly.

"Say what?"

"I'm going to take your civilian belt," Archer nodded to the hook where Trip hung his civilian clothes, "and I'm going to give you a belting that makes you think twice about attacking a senior officer."

Trip opened his mouth to declare that Archer couldn't do that, but he closed it with a snap, knowing Archer would retort that he wasn't supposed to assault his captain.

"Turn over on the bed," Archer directed.

"Uh," Trip flopped down, wishing he was wearing more than his blue shorts and undershirt, "can't believe you're going to do this. What if someone hears?"

After taking the belt off the hook, Archer reached over and pushed the sound system. A low hum filled the room, designed to block out noises outside the room when the occupant wanting to sleep undisturbed. Archer figured it would muffle noises inside as well, though he doubted anyone was nearby.

"Freakin' mess," Trip muttered as he folded both arms under his head. "I'm not five years old with my dad, in trouble for taking my bike apart and losin' the pieces. I'm the commander here."

"Who knows better than to act like you did," Archer said sternly. "You think about how you're going to change your attitude around here. I know you and I have very different ideas about how to do things, but the fact remains that you are my officer and I make the rules. You want to make the rules – then you go through the training and put in the hours to become captain of your own ship."

"You'd still boss me around if I was captain," Trip complained.

"Probably, but only for your own good."

"I hate things that are for my own good," Trip declared, getting more anxious by the second. It had been a long time since he had been spanked and never by anyone other than his parents, and he felt dizzy and short of breath as Archer stood over him. Trip considered protesting that he felt too bad to continue, but he didn't want to seem like a wimp, and then Archer would insist he go back to sickbay.

"Why am I not surprised?" Archer doubled over the belt (both bends in his hand), lifted it high, and brought it down with a snap.

"Gah!" Trip jerked on the bed. "What the hell? Man, that hurts."

"You got a lot more coming, "Archer announced. He brought the belt down again, getting a second thwack on that disobey rear end.

"I can't believe I'm letting you whip me," Trip hissed, digging his fingers into the covers.

"Letting me?" Archer felt his temper rising up. He landed several more licks, hearing Trip hiss after each one. "You're lucky I'm not using a cane. I watch you tear around this ship, never taking care of yourself, acting like you're the hero of some monster movie who can't get hurt."

"I like my movies," Trip protested, unable to think of anything else to say.

"That's not the point," Archer insisted. He began swinging the belt in all seriousness, stopping his lecture to concentrate on punishing the unruly young man writhing on the bed in front of him. Archer had felt absolutely furious when he marched Trip over the bed, but now that they were in the middle of the punishment, he felt only concern for Trip, worried that he might seriously hurt himself. "You have to take better care of yourself. I know you didn't want to go out to the desert, but if you had been in better shape, you might not have had such a rough time of it."

"That's unfair," Trip squalled. Archer had belted him at least two dozen times and did not seem to be anywhere near finished.

"Maybe, but that's the way I look at it," Archer gave him a particular hard one, and Trip drew in a haggard breath as he tried to deal with the pain. "The way I see it, you can take better care of yourself, or I'm assigning Phlox as your personal babysitter to follow you around and take care of you."

"You wouldn't!"

"I'd have him tucking you into bed every night at eight," Archer declared and then swung the belt down three times rapidly.

"Not fair," Trip wheezed.

Archer frowned at the wheezing. He was not sure that Trip was strong enough to take a full punishment, but he figured that if the commander were strong enough to assault his superior, he could withstand a heavy belting.

"You got twenty more coming, and then it's straight to bed."

"Oh, man, you just love torturin' me," Trip moaned.

"When you act so irresponsible – yeah, I do," Archer agreed. "Trip, you know I put your safety above everything else. I have never been so scared out there in the desert, worried you might slip into a coma. I swore if I got you back on ship still alive, I was going to make some changes to see that you got more rest and better food and regular exercise. You haven't been back ten hours, and you're raring and ready to go. No, I'm not having it."

He lay down five more licks.

"I care about you as a captain and as a friend."

Five more awful licks burned their way on to Trip's tender bottom; he whimpered.

"I care about what happens to you."

Five more blistering licks.

Trip felt tears gathering in his eyes. Not from the pain – he could have withstood a hundred licks and not shed a tear – but he could not stand for Archer to stay those things, stuff that meant something and tore Trip up inside. Archer really was his best friend – Archer always had the best intentions in mind – Archer would sacrifice himself in a second to save his commander and friend, and Trip knew that.

"You have to promise me that you're going to listen to the doctor and pay attention to your health and stop pushing yourself. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Trip's voice was muffled as he had both hands pressed over his face.

"Good boy," Archer laid down five of the hardest licks possible.

Trip howled at each of them and then he started crying brokenly, not even lifting his head from the bed.

The room was oddly quiet after all the loud thwacks of the belt, and Trip tried to muffle his sobs as best he could, his shoulders shaking with the effort.

His rear ached horribly to the point he thought he could never sit again. His whole body felt sore and tender after the trauma of the desert, and his chest hurt from trying to breathe too deeply. He felt hot and cold at the same time, and then he couldn't stop crying.

Archer had hung the belt up, but he turned back to say a few words to his friend and found to his dismay Trip trembling violently and trying to stem his flowing tears. Phlox would have his head if Archer had seriously hurt Trip; for all his cheery optimism, Phlox did not take injuries lightly.

"Hey, hey, that's enough," Archer put a hesitant hand on Trip's shoulder. "It's okay – you've been reprimanded and we can put this all behind us."

"No – can't," Trip swiped as he tried to sit up. As soon as he put pressure on his rear, more tears streaked down his cheeks, and he kept dashing his hands over his face. He looked so young and distraught; Archer felt horrible as he sat down beside Trip.

"Hey, hey, you're okay," Archer gave him a trusty smile. "You're just worn out. We're both tired after our little desert trip. So let's get you into bed."

Trip did not move, and Archer awkwardly reached an arm around out. He meant to wrap it around Trip's shoulder and give him a quick squeeze to let him know everything would be all right, but Trip surprised him by wrapping both arms around Archer's waist and burying his face in his captain's shoulder.

"I sorry," Trip sobbed. "I didn't – and then Phlox – but I couldn't – and then you –"

"It's all right," Archer said gently. "There you go, cry it out."

Trip proceeded to bawl on Archer's shoulder, crying as hard and long as he could. It felt so good to let it out, to feel the tension and frustration and anger leave his body. It was cathartic, all the stress disappearing as he cried. He never realized how exhaustive and tense and stressful his job was, how the tight confines of the ship trapped him and how the cabin fever got to him. But sobbing there with Archer keeping his arm tight around him, Trip felt that he could finally let everything bad go.

There was no use trying to keep it all together, no use quarreling or feeling disgruntled, no good fighting against anyone. Archer had given him exactly what he needed – release and relief.

"I'm sorry," Trip said one more time.

"Good boy," Archer patted him on the back.

"I'm not – _hick_ – Porthos," Trip hiccupped.

Archer smiled at the reminder of his dog. He would never say it, but he thought his commander could act just like his anxious little puppy at times, especially when Trip was tired.

"Go on and get in bed," Archer finally let go of him and stood up.

Slightly dazed, Trip managed to get his covers back and rolled onto his stomach, pulling the covers up with one weary arm.

"When you wake up, food and then straight to sickbay for breathing treatment," Archer said.

"Is that an order?" Trip asked, a smile tired smile on his lips.

"You bet. Phlox'll have you hale and hearty in no time. But I want you to remember this. Next time you feel upset with me, you come tell me and we'll find something for you to do or we'll discuss your frustration or get you some time to yourself. But I don't want to have to punish you again. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Trip nodded, barely able to keep his eyes open.

"And I am sorry about dragging you out to the desert," Archer said in a low voice. "You were a good sport to go along, and I didn't give you enough credit for it."

Trip made no comment. His eyes had closed, and he laid almost completely still, his back rising and falling with each deep breath he took.

Archer reached over to the panel to turn off the sleeping hum, but he hesitated. Trip had said before that he never turned on the hum because he wanted to be ready to get up and out at the least noise. But if he left the hum on, Archer thought there was a strong possibility that Trip might sleep longer. And if he did, Archer thought he might order that the hum be turned on every night to ensure his overactive commander slept more.

After he turned the lights off, Archer walked out and pushed the button for the panel door to shut. He would go report the proceedings to Phlox, skipping over the discipline part and just informing the doctor that their patient was in bed for the next ten hours, at least.


	3. Slight Payback

_12 hours later_

"- which would explain their strange behavior," T'Pol said, her face completely blank. "A tragedy, would not you agree?"

"Huh?" Trip glanced away from the isolation booth to look at her. "What?"

"I was merely pointing out the particularities of that species," T'Pol continued. "But I see that you are ignoring me to stare at the booth. What does a human find so interesting about a booth?"

"I don't care about the booth," Trip told her. "I'm just looking at the seat. Kind of uncomfortable, don't ya think?"

T'Pol looked at the plastic seat in the booth with high back and armrests. "It looks as comfortable as the other seats on the Enterprise."

"That's what I'm saying," Trip nodded. "When did all our chairs get so darn hard? Can't a fellow get comfortable these days?"

T'Pol frowned in confusion. "You spend your days on your back under the machines or floating outside in a full oxygen suit to repair the ship. How could you find a plastic chair uncomfortable?"

"Never mind," Trip stepped away from her, scared he might have let too much slip already.

"All right," Phlox came into the room, smiling as usual, "we will get the breathing treatment started, Commander. Please have a seat inside the booth. I will seal it up, and the fumes will fill the booth. Please breathe deeply for a minute and then continue to breathe normally for the next hour. After which, you will have a salt scrub bath," Phlox motioned to a deep metal tub, "followed by a deep tissue massage from the muscularity modifier," he indicated the flat bed that slid into the open tube of a machine which pummeled anyone unlucky enough to get slid in, "and finally several rounds of vitamin and herbal injections," he nodded to a cabinet that contained Phlox's latest discovery, a full acupuncture set.

Trip hedged for more time. That all sounded awful, but nothing sounded worst than sitting down in the plastic chair. Since his punishment the day before, Trip's rear was still sore, making sitting uncomfortable. Archer had taken a fiendish delight in bringing him breakfast an hour ago and making him sit down to eat every bite. Trip had shot him death glares as he sat and ate, but Archer pretended not to notice, chatting on about his dog and the new trick Porthos had learned.

"Um, maybe I could stand," Trip suggested as he stared at the booth.

"No, no," Phlox said, far too cheerfully in Trip's opinion. "You must be sitting and relaxed for the treatment."

Had it just been Phlox, Trip might have whispered his problem to the doctor, but with T'Pol standing there, watching everything – Trip gave a martyr's sigh and trudged towards the booth.

He said down in the plastic chair – instrument of torture! – and tried not to wince. "I'm ready," he grumbled.

"Good," Phlox smiled as he pressed the button on the panel beside the booth. Immediately, clear plastic panels slid down from the ceiling, enclosing Trip into the booth and sealing off any other air supply.

"You know, Lieutenant," Phlox commented cheerfully to T'Pol, "I believe it's time you learn to care for a recovering patient. Have you ever helped a patient with an invigorating salt scrub or administered acupuncture needles on a bare back?"

"No, Doctor, but I would be very interested," the Vulcan woman replied evenly.

"What? No!" Trip yelled, his voice muffled from inside the booth.

Phlox flipped the switch and heavy fumes began to fill the isolation booth. "Deep breaths, Commander," the doctor insisted. "If you give us your full cooperation, we might have to do this whole process only four or five times."

"What?" Trip demanded again, but by then the booth was so full of thick fog he could not see out or hear much of anything. With a reluctant sigh, he leaned back in his chair and tried to breathe deeply.

"Acceptance at last," Phlox mused happily. "Hopefully our young commander is on his way to full recovery. As for your assistance, my dear, why don't you go the cabinet over there and select the hardest brush you can find? The salt-scrub baths are only effective if the top layer of skin is completely worn away. The patient may feel a bit vulnerable, but recovery is not always pleasant."

T'Pol raised her eyebrows as the doctor's cheerfulness, but she went to the cabinet as he had directed. She found a long-handled bathbrush with prickly bristles, just right for the commander that sneered at her Vulcan ways.

Phlox turned on the monitor of the isolation booth and checked to see what the microprobes indicated about Trip's vitals such as heart-rate, breathing, and temperature. The numbers looked very good, moving back towards normal. The young man had relaxed in the booth, breathing heavily.

Phlox smiled. He would be glad to have their commander back to full health. The breathing treatment would repair him lungs and body better than anything else. The bath, massage, and acupuncture would just be a bit of revenge. Trip would feel worlds better at the end, but Phlox did not mind making him suffer a little, just to get him back for that scales comment.


End file.
